the basement of Cabot Library is without question the social hub of Harvard. In search of new friends, I ventured to Cabot's musty subterranean quarters to find some. Making friends with people who are studying may seem like a tough task--luckily I had a plan that was foolproof in its simplicity.

Sunday evening, I snuck the 1988 cinematic classic "Bloodsport" past the snoozing guard and strode purposefully to the video room, following the strategically placed signs. The video room, for those who have never been, is a bastion of social deliciousness. There are six televisions to watch videotaped lectures, the same number of chairs, and, as luck would have it, four potential friends--two guys and two girls.

I popped Bloodsport into monitor 4E and donned my headphones. I sat next to a nondescript girl with braces who was studying for a BS25 exam. "Have you ever seen Bloodsport?" I ask.

"Bits and pieces," she replies. She is not interested in watching today.

I turn around behind me and tap another girl on the shoulder. She is busy watching a Chem 7 review. "Why don't you come watch Bloodsport instead?" I coax.

While she turns down the offer, her sheepish grin makes me think that we may have just made a connection on a higher level. "I just love acids and bases," she says, turning back to her video. Ouch.

Surely the two guys will be up for some old-fashioned male bonding on 4E. I take a sip of my Diet Pepsi and walk over to a smallish Asian student who is watching a CS 124 lecture.

"Hey, you want to watch Bloodsport?" I ask.

"Oh come on, why not?" I persist.

"It's just too weird watching a movie in the Science Center," he says.

"You mean you've never done it?"

"No."

"Oh it's great. You sure you don't want to join?"

"Maybe another time."

I think about telling him how ironic it is that he is indeed watching a video in the Science Center right now! But instead I keep the joke to myself.

My final chance at making a new buddy lies in a boorish looking gent named Philip who is old enough to be a grad student (it turns out he is).

I suggest Bloodsport as a nice alternative to his video.

"I've seen it," he mumbles in a foreign tongue.

"Isn't it good?"

"Actually, I found it mediocre," he says, his eyes shooting bullets. I begin to cry.

"What are you watching?"

"What's it to you?"

"Well, I told you what I was watching. Remember?" I ask. "Bloodsport," I whisper through his headphones to remind him.

"CS51," he groans.

"Is it interesting?"

"Very."

On that note, I return to my terminal, friendless and now afraid of Philip who turns out to be Russian and has a red beard.

One by one, everyones' lectures end and they depart. Philip picks his nose and nibbles on his headphone wire. Just Philip and I are left. It is as though he and I have made it to the final round of the

Kumite. oincidentally, he bears a strange resemblance to Ray Jackson.

You could slice the tension with a katana sword. It becomes too much for me, so I turn off Bloodsport and prepare to confront Philip once more.

With no one else there, he becomes friendly. "Maybe I exaggerated. Bloodsport isn't a bad movie. I've seen it several times."

"Well it sure beats CS," I say.

"I don't have a choice," he replies. This time he is the one who has begun to cry.

Leaving, I tell Philip that he reminds me of Jackson.

"The big guy?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say. He laughs a hearty Russian laugh.

"Why do you want to watch Bloodsport with other people?" he asks.

"I want to share it with everyone. It has a special place in my heart. I try to watch it everyday."

"Do you practice martial arts?" He wonders.

"No," I reply. "Do you?"

"Yes, a little."

"Are you a part of the Tanaka school?" I ask.

"Oh the Tanaka clan!" he exclaims. He proceeds to execute the din mok (deft touch), the patented karate move of his shedoshi, to the air.

My Kumite is over. I bow and exit the arena.